


Nr. 11

by Lvvrey



Category: No Fandom
Genre: F/M, Multi, OC, OCs - Freeform, Original Characters - Freeform, Original Story - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 06:42:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17575844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lvvrey/pseuds/Lvvrey
Summary: This is the story about Vincent, who finds interest in simple things like staring at a certain window every night.





	Nr. 11

There was always this light. 250 feet away it shone, every single night. It was always shining when he thought he was alone. 

He thought, who would be awake at this hour? when all the stars faded into the sky’s rosy morning blush and when every bird warmed up it‘s familiar voice. 

There’s always this certain light across the road, in the old factory building number 11. Even Dean Harvey, the taxi driver who’s living two floors above Vincent, and who was always coming home early in the morning, was in bed by now. Vince counted his steps when he was awake. He counted them every morning.

But this light was still there. Sometimes he sat at his window and watched it. He always had his hopes up that he could get a sneaky glimpse of who’s living inside. Who and why he or she is always up until this late? 

He himself was a simple insomniac who used the silence of the night to think about his problems and other people’s problems. He knew it’s unhealthy, he knew he should be in bed, maybe experiencing what it was like to be free, to do the impossible in one of his dreams. But he liked reality more, sometimes. Sometimes when he noticed things like the light. Because they were worth thinking about, worth being curious about. He liked things he could get curious about. And reality was easier to burden, because he had control over it. The opposite of his dreams, if he ever allowed himself one. 

Besides, today, something was different from the other nights. Something that would push his curiosity even further.

Today was the first time after months and months of staring into orange-reddish blurriness that he made out something else between the white-framed window glasses. A shadow, maybe?

He was quick to reach for his pair of wire-framed glasses, quick enough to catch a glimpse of the gesture behind the flaming red ombre curtains. He recognised rather closely spaced shoulders, a skinny figure with long arms. Intentionally, he thought it’s a woman. But then again, he was merely able to watch the shadow of the mysterious person across the street fade into the light again. 

Some things were waiting to be revealed. And this one should definitely not be one of those, as it was too simple and tedious to be worth spending one’s free time on.  
But Vincent was still ready to dive further into the bright redness of the curtains, and the depths of the person whose feminine shadow he just saw. 

One day, he wouldn’t be the only one who’s staring. 

Silently he turned around, closed his own curtains. He’s got in mind that his own ones were comparably dull to the bright ones of his neighbour. Maybe he could get their attention by changing his own?   
Vincent asked himself if the person would notice him if he’d get more interesting. But how can one get interesting if the only thing he had to show off were his curtains? 

The night was close to over, yet the man with ebony hair and copper eyes laid down once more, just to sink into his restless thoughts of red and black.   
In his mind, he had his hands on a lady’s hip, brushed along the velvety dress in red and orange. They danced to Stéphane Grapelli’s Tea For Two and moved around in a room of white colour. 

-

His lips felt dry when he woke up. Apparently, he had left his window open, forgot about how cold it is outside. It’s winter, it’s cold. Vince liked the cold, he liked white, he liked the atmosphere. 

He slept a few hours, probably. Maybe less, but he cared more about other things. His room was white, but the corners were swallowed by dim shadows. Two of his walls were dipped in bleached sunbeams, although his wallpaper was already completely white, therefore the brightest colour available to buy. 

Vincent arose from his white bed, propped his body up until he was able to properly look around. Normally he would complain by now. But at some point in the past he admitted that it’s partly his own fault that he’s tired and grumpy due to the lack of sleep. I mean, he didn‘t even try. 

Today’s Saturday. He already received a text from his best friend Mason around three hours ago, but if he knew that Vincent was still up at this hour, he would get scolded again. Mason‘s favourite thing was scolding Vince for everything he did. People would think he’s a really bad friend, but he was just brutally honest, always concerned and that’s sometimes exactly what Vincent needed.  
He described himself as a hopeless dreamer, as someone who got lost in his thoughts too fast and too deep. Mason was that one friend who pulled him out just at the right time, to make him realise that reality wasn‘t that much of a dream. 

Speaking of which, the pulsing red of Vincent‘s dream was still noticeably present as soon as he closed his eyes to enjoy the last bits of his sweet wish-it-was-reality. It made him wonder once again whose shadow he saw a few hours ago, across the street on the fourth floor of number 11. 

He didn’t even have to take another look at the window, because at day-time it’s just like every other window. Only at night it was the only one that stood out at times when everyone was asleep. Vincent was curious. 

Curious enough to finally stand up and to collect his clothes from all over the floor. They looked alright and they didn’t even smelled too much. Most of the time he was wearing the same things all day and night. He always wore some baggy and comfortable clothes which concluded that he barely owned any pyjamas. He simply did not need them.

‘Vincy, are you awake? Don’t forget to meet me around 12 at Universe’ 

Mason had this thing for texting moderately friendly but being way harsher in real life.   
Vincent didn’t mind since he‘s pretty sure his short friend was just shy and hid it with being snappy.

Already planning his next move he had just skimmed the text, not really absorbing the message itself. Just as he grabbed the phone to throw it on yet another messed up stack of books with wrinkled paper peaking out of every edge, his eyes locked onto the word that described the place where Mason wanted to meet up. 

Universe.

The word had another meaning for Vincent. It wasn’t, to him, a place full of endless blackness, with no end and no beginning. The universe was lonely, unpredictable with all it’s mass and ever so scary. But -his- Universe wasn’t. It’s a place where you could go after a day full of hard work and flee exhausting situations. It’s a place where people you don’t know feel like your friend because they won’t judge you, just co-exist with you, so you aren’t alone. 

And Vincent happened to work there, just like his best friend. To be exact, they both established their own Universum, hence the name. Because the real one just didn’t match their interpretation of how it should be. Although he had to admit, it sounded better in his head back then. 

Sliding his knitted honey brown sweater over a white collared shirt underneath, the tall twenty one year old rushed through his bedroom door. To slake his thirst he grabbed a glass bottle of cherry juice from the refrigerator in his very minimalistic kitchen. Everybody always wondered how he fitted in there, as it was comparably small to his size of 6’2. He did do some research a while ago and the last person to apparently live here was a tiny 87 year old woman who also died in this very apartment. She probably had no problems with these low walls, he thought.

While grabbing a worn out leather Ish message bag, which Vincent hung over his shoulder, he decided to text back Mason, who would get pretty grumpy if left on read. Sometimes Vince thought he resembled a 15 year old girl on tumblr who would type mad posts about her boyfriend ignoring her texts. Maybe he did have a secret tumblr blog, it wouldn’t be much of a surprise to everybody since Mason’s a dedicated writer during his free time. Unlike his best friend, Vincent usually didn’t manage to finish what he started. 

‘I’ll meet you there, May. Didn’t have much time to eat, would you mind making me some breakfast?~~’

‘Did you stay up all night again?’

‘maybe’

‘You know how unhealthy that is for you, do you?’

‘yea, right. that’s why I need your special cinnamon tea to cheer up after your scolding.’

There was no verbal answer after this, just an annoyingly animated emoji from May’s side of the chat. It said it all. 

Vincent took it as a yes and rushed out of the house, having in mind that he’d have to steal one of café’s personal umbrellas later. The clouded sky wasn’t the only obvious sign of rain, the wind’s changed too. He had to brush several strands of hair out of his face as an attempt to scan the approaching bus a few meters away from him. Luckily, the bus stop was built right across the road and therefore worth the whole month of waking up early because of construction workers. 

So just like the maniac he somehow turned into upon seeing a bus, the dark-haired hasted over the street and ran straight forward into an innocent small figure leaving number 11. 

Tall as he was, Vincent almost missed out on the little yelp, if it wasn’t for a small hand that suddenly clung onto him, assuring he’d fatally miss his bus.

“Oh what the hell.”,

he complained as he turned around to face the person that just stopped him so exceedingly rudely. 

“You ran into me. Don’t you want to apologise?”

It was hard to spot the fragile man in the middle of Vince’s weak shadow, but his voice seemed even louder than any other the dark-haired had ever heard. It’s like someone had blown a bubble around the both of them, isolated the two individuals from the rest of the mass. 

“Excuse me now, Mr-“,

the taller said as he attempted to use his verbal ticket to freedom, only to be cut off once again.

“Mr. Murphy. Clive Murphy. And you are?”

𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘, he thought to himself as Vince plaintively glanced after his bus. Since he’d have to dwell here some more minutes anyways, he could as well just talk to that ignorant dwarf. And as his undivided attention seemed now directed at the the redhead, he began to notice some other unique features about this strange man. Not only his scorching red hair seemed burning to the touch, judging by his sharp tounge the young man could as well be described as a volcano, when his temper flared just enough to put the cherry on top. 

“Vincent.”

“... Van gogh?”

“Oh, no. Vincent Donovan. I wish I could draw but I’m tremendously bad at it.” 

They shared a funny glance as their eyes locked together for just a moment, enough to set the conversation to an uncomfortable end. But the bus still wasn’t there.

“You live in number 11 I noticed?”

“Yea, what’s it to you?” 

“Nothing, I just saw you coming out of there.”

Clive had the face of someone who didn’t care and he also didn’t care enough to hide it. Whenever a gust of wind flattened his hair from above, the rusty waves on top of his head dove a little further away from the brink of his nearly invisible hairline. It looked like he knew very well how dashing and mesmerising his orange sunset curls were. Maybe it was his height’s fault. If it wasn’t for Vincent mistaking him for a fire extinguisher, the ebony haired man would’ve trampled right over him. 

Vincent bit his lips which were chapped from the cold of late October. It rarely occurred to him how exceedingly bothersome the cold could be. It’s always been a beautiful thing to him, although he didn’t actually have to be around it. Since this fancy new bus stop was built, he rarely had to stand outside at all. But he also never reckoned to be stopped by a literally hot headed dwarf. 

But come to think of it, this man came out of number 11. He seemed to like red very much, as no one could’ve naturally achieved a hue this powerful. Vincent was jealous of a color like this. His hair was lacking any richer tones, but he knew he wouldn’t spring for any other color at the salon. Clive seemed fragile, weak even, but his temper was definitely something else. Maybe the silhouette wasn’t a woman after all? 

“By the way, I live across the street. There. You can see my window.” 

He pointed at the said direction across the street. Right, during the day it just looked like every other window, nothing special about it at all. But that was the beauty of it. At night it would be the only one of two standing out. 

“Right.. Good to know I guess?” 

He cracked something like a smile, although a little weirded out. He acted polite as if Vincent desperately tried to hand him flyers about this genuinely nice pizza and pasta restaurant around the corner. 

Finally, the bus announced itself by honking impatiently at a cyclist in front of it, who seemed like he put a lot of effort into riding fast, but in reality barely reached the speed of an old carriage. 

As if at the touch of a button, Vince turned into the mindless maniac from before and hasted away from his new acquaintance towards the bus. He only heard a faint call before the door closed behind him.

“You still didn’t apologise, Vincent!” 

-

It seemed like a close call when the clouds gave of their rain to the few trees and patches of grass between cracks in the asphalt, when the road became alive with more splashes than one’s eyes could appreciate. The water droplets fell out of a velvety white sky like they simply couldn’t think of anything better to do. Softly splashing they hit the bus’ windows as it drove onwards on it’s predestined route. 

Inside there were those who chatter, their voices blending and rising together in the attempt to pay their contribution to the conversation before it changed into another mindless topic. Then those who absorbed themselves in faint music, others who drifted into worries that would erase themselves on arrival, when their body rejoined the world of the moving and alive. 

At the front of the bus there was an older woman with her grandchild. With every bounce of the suspension her head wobbled like it was only loosely attached to her neck, as if she had no energy to keep it up straight. Every now and then the child would disappear, only to reappear right after. After a few minutes or so it wiped the condensation from the window with the back of it’s sleeve to peak outside, pressing it’s tiny nose against the probably very filthy window. But children had a different kind of immune system, although the woman started a few unsuccessful but effortless attempts to call it back. 

When the vehicle came to a halt and all tyres howled miserably because of the rain, Vincent certainly wasn’t the only passenger to get ripped out of his hollow and trance like state.

After he followed the mass of zombies out of the bus, ran a few minutes through the rain, he felt a shiver creeping up his spine. It certainly wasn’t any freezing gust of wind passing on it’s cold, no. Only when he turned around and met a pair of judging blue eyes, he realised it was something, or rather someone, else. 

No one else than Mason, whose eyes pierced through the well cleaned window of their café, right into his best friends body. If looks could kill, his deep midnight eyes presented definitely the perfect example. 

Oh no, Vince thought as he smiled fearfully in his friend’s direction. He totally forgot about the time and thanks to the redhead, he’d totally forgotten to write May as well. It’s not like he would’ve been on time even if he caught the first bus, but now it’s even worse.

Although he felt the sudden urge to run away, the taller of the both came closer and eventually entered the café while being announced by the little golden bell above the brown doorframe. A second later his small friend suddenly appeared in front of him.

Mason was just like a weasel, very fast and silent. He managed to sneak up on everybody, especially on Vincent who always suffered the same heart attack over and over. 

Mason was a slim but muscular man, with an almost perfectly symmetrical and defined face. The kind of face that stopped you in your tracks whenever you caught a glimpse of it. Vince knew he must get used to that at some point. He had pretty wide and handsome shoulders, which his best friend frequently used as a pillow in the bus or during breaks. His short black hair seemed thin but lustrous, framed the beginning of a strong jaw and his slender, greek looking nose. His eyes were a mesmerising deep ocean blue, flecks of silvery light performed dances throughout, in a very strong contrast to his thin and pale lips. He had dark and thick eyebrows, which usually sloped downwards in a serious expression, especially today. 

“What took you so long?”

“I missed my bus.”,

Vince complained. If he wanted to, he could fit his whole hand perfectly over the slim face and shut him up like so, but the annoyed barista was definitely way too scary right now. 

“How? You live right across the street, it takes you less than two minutes to get there.”

“Well”,

he started and thought of the weird encounter with Clive. It probably wasn’t particularly wise to tell Mason about it, as he already had to listen to his friends shit talk about the window every night. Vincent always tended to send a dozen messages during these hours because everyone was asleep and he felt lonely. Mason was the only one to ignore his texts instead of telling him to shut up. That was all he needed, if he was honest. 

While thinking of a fitting answer to the question, Vince grabbed his personal apron from one of the golden little hooks on the wall next to many counters at the center of the whole area. By day the café was the colour of freshly baked vanilla muffins, it had that shiny look, and the jazz poured out of the open doors along with the distinctive aroma of brewed coffee. But now that it was almost noon and the light of the day had been replaced by the unrelenting paleness of rain, the walls seemed dipped in silver, just like the smooth marble counters he now idly stood against. 

“I met someone in the streets. Well I kind of ran into him. He came out of that one house. Number 11.”

Right, he never apologised for that.

“How romantic”,

May commented with a not entirely bored expression but something very close to that. He grabbed one of those rather porous and worn out rags to clean a table probably no one sat at in days, just to avoid looking at Vincent. Both of them knew to avoid that topic. Vince was the only one of them to find interest in an unimportant matter like stalking someone through a window. Mason always said it like that, although his large friend preferred the term 𝑜𝑏𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑒

The digits on the clock morphed into different ones as the time went on. Mild throbbing against the window served as a constant reminder that it was still raining outside and that no one would dare to go out, just to drink something at the Universe café. But it also prevented uncomfortable silence upon the lack of conversation between the two friends. It lingered in the air, the need to say something.

“You still can’t sleep at night, can you?”,

Mason finally spoke up and threw his smelly piece of cloth into a neon blue bucket next to the table he was currently cleaning.

“I’m not trying anymore. At night my mind lights up with new possibilities, new things I’m able to create if I put my mind at it. My brain begs for unconsciousness and fatigue rules my every minute of each day. It’s like being jacked up on uppers all night without any of the fun. The doctors said it’s psychological and treatable if I feel the need to which I don’t.” 

He acted stubborn and Mason knew he couldn’t change any of that. He tried. Ever since that whole insomnia problem appeared, he constantly tried to force his friend into treatment. It was obvious from the start how all of it was psychologically and most likely trauma-dependent. But some day Vincent seemed better, only to later apologise for lying about it. 

„You should really forget about that whole red-curtain-guy across the street. He‘s probably a fat alcoholic who drinks all night and jerks off to feet.“

Vince bursted into laughter upon hearing that. The image alone almost made him throw up. Anyone who jerked off to feet was utterly disgusting and probably needed a psychologist more than Vince did. 

Mason tried to stay serious but even *he* couldn’t swallow his chuckles as he was startled by his friend‘s open and appreciative laughter. Vince was the only person who could genuinely make him laugh or slip a giggle. The short haired man had a good sense of humour, it just rarely fit the ones of the people he met. 

People often thought of laughing as a noise that came from the mouth, but when May was laughing it was nothing like that. The laugh was in his eyes, you could feel the sound vibrating deeply in his chest. It came from within and it was just as beautiful as he was. Not that Vince was crushing on his best friend (they were already over that) but he simply admired him as the person he was. 

„No“, Vince laughed. „No, I don‘t think he‘s someone like that. I think he‘s nice.“

„But what makes you think that? You can‘t be sure that man you met today was who you were looking for. It‘s not like this house has only one person living there.“

Mason was right. How likely was it for someone to have this much luck? Vince always tended to confuse reality with wishful thinking. Probably because he tried to be lucid and concentrated all day, although he barely had an hour sleep last night. 

He sighed, drove his hands into the black messy sea on his head and closed both eyes for just a moment. What had his life become up to this point? He couldn‘t sleep at night, his friend had to do all the work so the both of them could breathe properly. Vincent was pretty much useless and he knew it. Everyone knew, everyone who stayed after what happened. Everyone meaning Mason.

Mason’s always been loyal, ever since the two of them met each other in middle school. It wasn‘t easy for him because of how small and weak he looked like back then. Vincent‘s always been taller than most of the other people around him and although not exactly popular, well respected in a way. They met and ironically immediately became friends, despite their differences in appearance and acting. 

„Maybe I‘ll just go and check if I‘m right. It‘ll drive me crazy tonight anyways if I don‘t.“ 

And again, Mason didn‘t seem to attempt to convince his friend otherwise. Like always, Vince seemed deeply stubborn most of the time and Mason wasn‘t the kind to waste his voice by yelling against a solid wall. 

On his way out, the taller one grabbed one of the black and golden umbrella and squeezed himself through the door, which he only halfheartedly opened. 

What started as mild rain soon turned into inky darkness which sank heavily into the marrow of one’s bones. The air turned warm, but in a suffocating way. Only the wind seemed as cold as before, announcing a thunderstorm that‘d last all night. 

With his long legs it was easy for Vince to rush along the alley towards the bus stop. Water splashed all around, as his feet disturbed the peaceful reflection of several puddles on the sidewalk. This time he caught the bus just right and managed to flee the first intimidating and reverberating growl of thunder that suddenly rolled over the charcoal sky. 

This time the ride seemed a lot more quiet. No one was chattering like before, people simply stared blankly out of the window or at the back of their front man. It‘s like the raw power of nature intimidated even the most powerful creatures on earth. But then again, Vince liked it. 

When he arrived at his own little bus stop right in front of his house, Vince‘s eyes automatically wandered over to the one he went to earlier. Where he met Clive, the furious redhead who had more confidence in his small body than Vince had in his left toe. But was he really the guy Vince was looking for? He could just run over the street into number 11 and ring somewhere, pretending he had to deliver something. Then he‘d run up to the apartment right across his window and take a look at the name on the door bell. It was this easy. 

But what if it wasn‘t Clive? It would be disappointing, although Vince didn‘t know why it would be disappointing. It somehow would be. 

As in slow motion, the 21 one year old backed away until he nearly tripped over the little step in front of his door. He finally turned away and faced the door, mindlessly trying out every key he had on his key ring, even though he knew exactly which one he needed. 

After entering, Vincent miserably went upstairs as if it was the hardest thing he‘d ever done. He reached his apartment and realised he didn‘t even lock the door when he went outside today. One day he‘d just get robbed or something. 

Before falling onto whatever was near and comfortable, he went into his little kitchen corner and threw some half eaten lasagna into the microwave. He‘d be too tired to stand up again if he didn’t do it now. 

Two minutes felt like eternity until he actually pressed the button one second before the little box would beep to tell him his food was ready. 

With his lasagna, the man found a comfortable spot on his worn out couch and ate his scraps in a very unpleasant silence. Maybe he should really find some more friends or at least invite Mason over. It‘s been ages since they really hung out together, Mason was always too busy.

The day went by like every other one. Normally they‘d all be the same. Vince wouldn’t know when one started and one ended, but they all looked the same. Except this one. Today was different. In a lot of ways.

Now he just sat at his window again, staring at the only one that was alive too. Across the street in number 11, where the red-ish curtains seemed on fire again. Now he just wondered, was it really Clive? All along? Could it really be destiny that they‘ve met so randomly and unexpected? 

He was a sucker for romantic stories, even if it wasn‘t romantic at all. But how could they meet again? It wasn‘t like he could just go over and ring the bell like „Hey, I‘ve randomly ran into you, you remember?“

No way. 

Maybe, just maybe, if life was fair for once, they‘d run into each other once again. And then Vince would be able to ask. 

A ringing cut through the silence like a badly built paper plane. At first the dark haired thought it might be his lack of sleep playing mischievous games with him, but it rang again. And again and again. 

And finally he stood up, carefully not to expose himself. Whoever it was shouldn‘t know he was awake. It was almost midnight after all. Who in his right mind would ring someone‘s doorbell during that hour?

The little silver chain that prevented people to enter the house uninvited stayed on, just in case. Although Vince had seen movies where people managed to stick knives through the little gap, or worse guns. 

But he still opened the door and almost had a heart attack. 

Extraordinary messy red hair and eyes as big as coins greeted him curiously. The heart shaped lips were twirled into a mischievous grin, only parted in surprise as their owner was met with two almost frightened eyes behind the wooden door.

„Clive?“


End file.
